


Demons

by AngelOfDinosaurs, SarahTheDinosaur (AngelOfDinosaurs)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 21:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfDinosaurs/pseuds/AngelOfDinosaurs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfDinosaurs/pseuds/SarahTheDinosaur
Summary: Carter Lahey is like any other teenage girl with a seemingly perfect likfe. She's popular, gorgous and is friends with almost everyone. She is best frinds with Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore the most popular people in school. Her twin brother Issac adores her but he can't protect her from everything. But she hides a grave secret. WARNING - scenes of violence





	1. Late Night Visitor

Chapter 1: Late Night Visitor

The wind howls outside of my bedroom window as I curl up into my twin brother's warmth. His strong protective arm around me, the only comfort this hell hole of a house provides. I watch as Isaac sleeps peacefully beside me, his slow steady breathing the only sound filling the room. He never looks this calm while he's awake. His face almost constantly twisted with concern and wisdom beyond his years shining in his eyes. In a previous life, one where our mother hadn't left us, our brother was still here, and our father was as loving as he had once been many moons ago. I look out the window and watch the stars and long for the sparkle that once lit up our eyes as children.

My eye's slide shut as I try to fall asleep, but the sharp sound of pebbles hitting the nearby window drew me away from dreamland where everything is alright. I gently slide Isaac's arm off me and feel a small smile spread as he subconsciously reaches out for me, still the protective older brother even in his sleep. Tip-toeing over to the old dirty window, white paint cracking a peeling away from the frame, and gently slide it open to avoid making too much noise and awakening the beast from its slumber. As I peer over window sill my hyperactive sarcastic best friend, Stiles, jumps excitedly below. His swirling dark caramel eyes shining with excitement and hidden mischief saw by those closest to him. I mentally groan because I know this is the part where he tries to drag me into some hair-brained scheme which ends with us and our other friend, Scott, getting into trouble, Scott usually attains some kind of injury and I feel the wrath I doubt Satan himself could muster.

"Carter! Get down here, we're going out," Stiles whisper shouts, his voice shaking with excitement, arms swinging in a wild gesture towards his faded blue, slightly battered but well-loved Jeep.

"Stiles, what is it? I really can't go I have to meet with Lydia tomorrow morning," I sigh, the bad taste of the lie coating my mouth. He can't find out I left in the middle of the night, least of all with the Sherriff's son. Not again.

"But Carter," a slight whine enters his voice, "my dad just got a call saying two joggers in the woods found a body." Stiles face drops slightly urging me to escape my imprisonment and run through the woods like we always did.

"I'm sorry Stiles, but you know how Lydia is. She is the love of your life after all. Anyways you can always drag Scott along," I say half-heartedly feeling a slight pinch in my heart mention the strawberry blonde bombshell. I used to have the biggest crush on Stiles, but I think... no. I hope it's faded. It hurts too much hearing him talk about Lydia so much, about his 10-year plan to make her fall in love with him and leave her Captain of every sports team boyfriend, Jackson Whitmore.

"Okay. I'll do that," he says crestfallen before pointing towards me, "but don't think for a second you won't hear, every detail of what you're missing out on." He carefully turns and walks back to his pale blue jeep, his head hanging lower than it had been before, less excitement in his movements. When he reaches the door and opens it, he turns slightly and shouts, "Goodnight Carter."

Then he mumbles something afterwards too quiet for me to hear. I sigh and carefully slide the window closed, wishing I could have gone on the adventure with him one last time before school begins again tomorrow. Turning around and my heart begins to hammer in my chest as I see the only person worse than the devil himself looming in the doorway of the bedroom I share with my twin. A sadistic smirk twisting his features into a terrifying expression.

"I see you're still friendly with the sheriff's kid. I thought I told you to stop seeing him," my father sneers stalking towards me like a predator would their prey. "I think you need to learn to listen to what I tell you."

I gulp down a breath of air, standing painfully still as my muscles seize with fear. Isaac sits up groggily in the bed and rubs his eyes with confusion coating his face before realisation dawns at the scene before him. A sharp stinging pain abruptly blooms in my face and then my stomach. Gasping for breath, I see Isaac move as though to jump in between me and my assailant. He looks at me and I shake my head slightly and look at him pleadingly, begging him to leave it and save himself some pain. It's not his fault I didn't listen the last time our father mentioned my friendship with Stiles. The man who claims to be my father punches me in the side of my rib cage a few more times while bruises blossom on my snowy white skin, before grabbing my hair and dragging me down two flights of stairs. I beg and plead until he throws me on the dirty concrete floor. I scramble away from him and desperately try to escape my fate.

The demon smirks as I eye the source of most of all my punishments. In front of me is a large white chest freezer wrapped in chains and lined with claw marks. But that is exclusively for Isaac. A couple of metres away from the dirty white box is a smaller chest which looks deceivingly like a toy box, hidden in the shadows and unlikely to be noticed unless you already knew of its presence. The wood is painted a flaking sky-blue colour and the lid has Carter written in fancy writing in a glittery purple paint. The entire chest is covered in some of my favourite characters from my childhood like Tinkerbell and Piglet. Surrounding the chest is a pile of old chains with several locks sitting open along its length. The chest is too cheery for the purpose it has adopted over the years. Surrounding the chest is a pile of old chains with several locks sitting open along its length. The beast grabs my ankles and drags me towards the box.

I claw uselessly at the concrete floor only achieving more scores in the ground with some flakes of my red nail polish and scream pleadingly at the thing dragging me towards the object of my fear. My foot suddenly drops, and I take the opportunity to try and scramble away to safety, but he just picks me up and shoves me into the small box, slamming the lid shut and locking the chains around it. My body is cramped in the small box, but I am too terrified to move in the darkness not that there was much room to do so in the first place.

"Maybe now you'll listen to me the first time."

His thumping footsteps ascend the creaky wooden basement stairs as my breathing becomes laboured and black begins to creep into the edges of my vision as the panic sets in.


	2. School Begins

Chapter 2: School Begins

I was awoken by a sudden rush of cold air which contrasted with the stuffy overly warm air within the chest. Isaac stood above me with a grim expression holding out his hand to help me out of the tiny torture chamber. As I looked closer at his face, I saw his cheek was bruised. It looks like he had tried to get me out of the chest again. I sigh as I reach to lightly touch the bruise. He flinches away from my hand and I embrace him in a light hug because of the bruising on my ribs. I bury my face in his shoulder trying to find some comfort before getting ready for school and face the day ahead.

"You have to stop trying to save me from there you know?" I mumble into the fabric of his t-shirt, "there's little point in both of us getting a beating."

"But I can't when I know what it's like in the freezer," Isaac murmurs into my hair.

"And then you get hurt. Just please leave me to it next time. At least I can wear makeup to cover the bruising," I let out a humourless laugh.

"Come on munchkin. You need to get ready for school. Are you going with me on my bike cause I'm leaving before he wakes up?" he says releasing me from his embrace to go up to our shared bedroom.

I rummage through my clothes before settling on a pair of black ripped jean shorts, a white tank top, black leather jacket and combat boots with sheer black tights. I look in the mirror and see a blue and purple handprint on my cheek and my curly brown hair in complete disarray. I quickly run a brush through the tangled mess and apply some concealer and foundation to cover the bruise. I swipe in some mascara, eyeliner and red-tinted lip gloss. I looked better but the makeup only covered the visible bruising the areas were still tender, and remnants of panic still clung to my chest. I grabbed my shoulder bag containing my books and shoved my penny board in as well rushing to get out before He had a chance to awaken.

When I get downstairs Isaac is gone but the car is still in the driveway. I hurry out the door not wanting to face Him and notice Jackson walking out of his lavish house across the street. I smile lightly and unsteadily run up to him my ribs aching at the action. He opens his arms and we share a quick hug as I angle my body in such a way as to prevent contact with my rubs. He looks down at me sympathetically, a sad smile gracing his features and worry swimming in his striking blue eyes.

"I don't see why you won't let me tell someone… I heard you screaming last night," he says sadly.

Jackson may be a complete dick to a lot of the student body, but he can actually be really sweet when he wants to be. I bow my head not wanting to look him in the face. "Can you at least tell me what happened this time?"

"Stiles came over wanting me to help him look for the dead body found last night," I say flatly. "Dad caught us talking and well you know what happens after that." Jackson smiles sadly at me again and gives me a light hug not wanting to cause me any further pain.

"Come on I'll give you a ride." He says gesturing for me to get in his silver Porsche. I smile gratefully and gently lower myself into the passenger's seat.

The whole ride to a higher circle of hell called Beacon Hills High School we talked just like we had in middle school. When we pull into space right in front of the school beside the bicycle rack, I get out still smiling. Until Jackson hits Scott McCall, a boy with floppy brown hair, the sweetest puppy dog eyes and an uneven jawline, with his door.

"Watch the paint job," Jackson sneers at Scott which makes him look even more like a lost puppy than usual, as he walks around the car to meet me. When Jackson gets close enough, I playfully slap the back of his head and give a short wave to Scott.

"Be nice," I giggle as I notice Lydia walking across the parking lot and run up embracing my strawberry blonde bestie in gentle hug abandoning Jackson in the process. She lets out a small giggle before reciprocating the action a little too hard. I try my best not to wince or cringe in pain but I'm positive it was shown blatantly on my face. I release her from our hug and step back to take in Lydia's outfit. Stylish as usual. A pink plaid skirt, black tank top covered by a dark blue cardigan which is tucked into the skirt. She wears her favourite black boots with thick black tights. Over this, she's wearing a black trench coat.

"Carter it's been way too long we really have to hang out again. How about you sit with me at lacrosse practice after school," Lydia exclaims over excitedly as we approach the door to the school and a certain pair of boys talking animatedly probably about the body from last night. Stiles was looking at the boy resembling a puppy dog in disbelief. His mouth moving fast as if finding it hard to articulate his exact thoughts and his arms waving wildly as though trying to force the thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"This is the best thing that has happened to this town since," Stiles says looking around quickly before speaking again as me and Lydia walk past, "since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey Lydia, you look... like you're going to ignore me." He huffs slightly as my only girlfriend completely ignores the adorable geek, I call one of my best friends. I feel a slight twinge in my heart but the fake smile I have plastered on my face doesn't waver. Practice really does make perfect, I guess. I'm not sure which of my smiles are real anymore and the only person able to tell is my twin and I'm not sure he is completely sure most of the time anyway.

"Can you believe that guy? Doesn't he understand the concept of leagues and that I am out of his?" Lydia sighs as we strut down the hall almost everyone's eyes on us. She knows I like Stiles and has come to accept it.

"Don't blame him, Lydia. He might hang out with me a little too much," I giggled. She smiles and nods in agreement because I have achieved the impossible melted the ice queen herself a.k.a. Lydia Martin and forced my way into her good graces despite my lack of interest in shopping.

Suddenly Jackson comes up behind us and puts one arm around Lydia's waist and one arm over my shoulders. It used to bother Lydia, but she has come to terms with the friendship me and Jackson share and knows I could never hurt her.

"So where are my favourite girls headed," he smirks at us his eyes softening from their usual hard expression when he looks at Lydia and me. I pick up his arm and drop it to his side before stepping sideways.

"I need to go to the principal's office. I have to greet the new girl," I say backing up, before disappearing into the crowd. The young couple too engrossed in one another to notice my absence.


	3. New Girl

Chapter 3: New Girl

As I walk awkwardly down the empty corridor beside the middle-aged principle, wringing my hands together, my book bag slung over my shoulder banging against the back of my right leg reminding me that I need to put the penny board into my locker. I can't help but worry about what the new girl will be like. Will she be nice? Will she like me? Will Lydia like her? Hundreds of thoughts running through my head with every step we take closer to the doors of the school. Just beyond awaits the girl I will show around the school.

The doors swing open with a slight pressure to reveal a timid looking girl with beautiful curly brown hair flowing down her back putting her phone back into her bag. She turns to face us a nervous smile on her face as she unsteadily stands up slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her really cute heeled suede boots clicking slightly on the concrete pavement as she approaches. Her black skinny jeans are perfectly moulding to her legs a pale brown tank top covered by a cute pale blue scarf and faded brown jacket with three quarter length sleeves. I will have to introduce her to Lydia, she will love this girls fashion sense.

Her brown eyes explicitly convey her nervousness and the awkward smile place on her slightly glossed lips makes her the epitome of the shy new girl. She wears minimal makeup and looks beautiful. She will be the cause of many heartbreaks this year I know that much now. I smile reassuringly before extending my hand out to her in a friendly gesture.

"Hello. I'm Carter Lahey and on account of the entire student body, I would love to welcome you to Beacon Hill's High School," a wide friendly smile stretches across my face as I shake her hand gently. Her tense muscles relax slightly, her shoulders releasing the built-up tension, seeing I was being a hundred per cent sincere. She returns my smile and grips my hand a bit harder as she returns the handshake.

"Thank you. I'm Allison Argent," she says sweetly.

The principle clears his throat and smiles at the two of us. "Well, I'm glad to see you two getting along because Carter, you will be showing you around seeing as you have most of your classes together." He gestures towards the school, "Now let's get you two to English shall we."

We nod following behind him towards the faded double doors of the front of the school.

"Do you have a spare pen I could borrow by any chance?" Allison asked me nerves still evident in her voice. I smile apologetically before telling her I only brought one. She sighs but mumbles, "It's okay. I guess something had to go wrong, at least it was just a pen."

"So, Miss Argent did you live in San Francisco your whole life?" the principal asked as we made our way down the corridor towards our class.

"No but we lived there for more than a year which is a big thing for my family, "Allison sighed a longing evident in her voice.

"Well, I hope you make a slightly more permanent residence here in Beacon Hills," I add smiling at the new girl. The principle opens the door interrupting Mr Smith during his lecture. I'm assuming about Kafka's Metamorphosis because it was written in capitals on the dusty blackboard. I sigh as I enter the classroom seeing a slightly dazed Scott staring at Allison. 'Someone has a crush' I internally thought in a sing-song way. Beside him, Stiles looks out of it with a look of concern etched on his face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Mr Smith but this is our new student Allison and I would like everyone to make her feel welcome," the principle says looking pointedly at one Mr Stiles Stilinski, who is still in a world of his own. Mr Smith gestures for us to take the only two remaining empty seats which just so happen to be directly behind Scott and Stiles. As we sit down Scott turns around handing Allison a spare pen.

"Thanks," she whispers slight confusion evident in her voice as she awkwardly accepts the much-needed piece of stationary. I poke Stiles slightly in the back in an attempt to gain his attention. He jumps slightly in his seat turning cautiously before breathing a sigh of relief as he looks at me. I smirk at him a hint of mischief gleaming in my eyes, a slight hint of fear in his eyes tells me he knows what I'm thinking. You see when I get this look it usually ends up with me walking away $20 richer.

"Yo, Stiles. I bet by the Winter Formal our little Scotty will have defied the laws of nature and have gotten himself a girlfriend," I whisper in his ear glancing at Scott and Allison out of the corner of my eye. He shivers slightly before getting a smirk of his own as if positive I will be wrong, not that I ever have been before. He turns slightly in his chair to take a look at the boy in question.

"How much this time?" he asks a cocky tone coating the words, a smirk overcoming the worry that once smothered his features.

"How about we raise the stakes a little from the last time?" I whisper with the smirk still planted firmly on my face. "How about $30 and the loser has to do one thing the winner want's no matter what it is?"

Stiles noticeably gulps looking like he's starting to question if he should do it. Then he turns with resolution and a look of determination and a firm nod of his head he sticks his hand out for me to shake.

"You're on. Be prepared to lose, Lahey," Stiles says as I grasp his hand firmly and shake.

Leaning forward out of my chair I whisper, "Stiles, dear, when was the last time I lost a bet to you?" in his ear again my lips slightly brushing his ear lobe before releasing my grip on his now shaking hand. I sit back in my seat, Stiles was frozen still watching me. I look at the teacher as he turns around seeing Stiles back turned.

"Mr Stilinski would you please stop pestering Ms Lahey and pay attention," Mr Smith shouted at Stiles. He jumps in his seat before quickly spinning to face the front and stare idly at his desk but not before I saw his cheeks turn pink. Scott smirks at him in the corner of my eye. God these boys are so weird.


	4. Lacrosse Practice

Chapter 4: Lacrosse Practice

Classes ended for the day and the halls flooded with bodies dragging their feet lazily towards the parking lot. Allison and I battle our way through the crowds of exhausted teenagers towards her locker so she could get the books she needs for homework. Lydia struts towards us, fabulous as always, with a small smile on her lips. She looks at me and nods in approval of my new-found friendship with Allison.

"That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?" Lydia says slightly breathily at the start, maintaining her air-headed persona.

Allison shifted uncomfortably before replying, "My mom was a buyer in a boutique back in LA." Lydia's smile widens, and her small dimples showing.

Clapping her hands together Lydia exclaims in excitement, "And you are my new best friend."

I gasped in mock offence. "What am I then last year's Armani Shoes," I exclaimed overdramatically. Lydia and Allison laughed slightly at that before Jackson wrapped his arms around Lydia's waist kissing her cheek. I took that as my queue to leave to get my books. "I'll meet you on the field, I need to grab some books."

As I approach my locker I watch as Stiles and Scott were talking whilst leaning against their nearby lockers. Well, Stiles was talking, Scott was staring off into space in the general direction of the group I had just left, or more specifically, Allison Argent.

"How come 'New Girl's here all of five seconds and she's already hanging out with Lydia's clique," I hear the snarky voice of Harley. I was about to make a sarcastic remark in response, but I was beaten by the king of sarcasm himself.

"Because she's hot. Beautiful people herd together," he mutters slightly as if slightly resentful and longing.

"So, you think I'm hot, Stilinski," I decide to speak up and hoping to embarrass the adorable hyperactive nerd I call my best friend. He jumps as the sudden sound of my voice, Harley scoffs and tries to swing her hips as she struts off down the hall.

"I-I-I m-mean um eh um," Stiles stutters an adorable pink colour creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. I giggle at his response.

"Stiles. I'm only joking don't get your panties in a bunch," I laugh at his face as he breathes a sigh of relief. I swing open the locker door grabbing some textbooks and my penny board. Smirking at Stiles I slam the locker door shut before strutting down the hall towards the lacrosse field my hips swinging subtly. Dramatically flinging the doors open I attract the attention of most of the lacrosse team and Coach with a slight smirk on my face.

Strutting towards the bleachers' Coach yells at me, "Lahey, stop distracting my team. I need their full attention on lacrosse." The obvious smile could be heard in his voice.

"I'll try Coach, but you know teenage boys. Who wouldn't want a piece of this? "I jokingly call back before seating myself next to an amused Allison and Lydia.

Lydia turns towards me expectantly. "I'm having a party this Friday, and you're coming," she asserts like she always does when throwing a party.

Apprehension and fear grips at my throat. "Lydia, I can't…" I begin, before swiftly being cut off.

"You've missed the last three. You can't spend every Friday night at home studying, or whatever it is that you do. Live a little," she smiles at me, innocent of what I actually spent the duration of the previous parties doing.

"I'll see. But I can't make any promises. You know what my dad's like," I force a smile, the word 'dad' feeling wrong of my tongue.

"But if you play, I'll have no one to talk to on the bench. Are you really going to do that to your best friend?" the faint yet unmistakable sound of Stiles' voice drifts towards us, the words broken a bit due to his panting from the exercise.

"I'm not going to sit out again my whole life so sitting on the sidelines," Scott replies steadfast in his decision, "This season I'm making first line." Stressing his and I quote 'pathetically unrealistic dream' as Stiles has put it for the past four months.

As Stiles sits in his 'claimed' part of the bench where he always sits dropping his practically brand-new Crosse and helmet, Scott glances out at the lacrosse field before he turns and spots us his eyes locked on Allison a small smile gracing his face. Out of the corner of my eye, Allison is smiling back before the moment is ruined by Coach Finstock.

"McCall."

"Yeah," Scott replies dazed his gaze still locked on the Argent girl.

"You're in goal," Coach says in his usual loud demanding tone tossing Scott a Crosse with a larger net for the keeper causing Scott to drop his bundle of stuff which is attached to his stick.

"But I've never played," he futilely tried to protest to no avail. He should know by now there is no arguing with Finstock, once his minds made up it is set in stone.

Coach smirks at Scott's naivety, "I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys a confidence boost. It's the first day back gets them energised." Coach slaps Scott's arm before continuing making a weird hand gesture in the process, "Fire it up." Scott looks at him in disbelief.

"What about me?" he quietly exclaims in exasperation.

Still smirking Coach replies, "Try not to take any in the face," before slapping him lightly on the cheek and directing him towards the goal. Coach turns back to the rest of the team shouting directions that I don't listen to. Poor Scotty, he just wants to play the sport he loves for his school.

My thoughts are broken by Allison, "Who's he?" she asks curiosity in her voice as she gazes at Scott standing in the goal.

"Him? I'm not sure who he is. Why?" Lydia replies boredom and surprise lacing her tone.

"He's in my English class," Allison mumbles sounding slightly embarrassed by her interest.

"That's Scott McCall. He's a friend of mine. Sweet, kind of nerdy, not all that popular hence the confusion from my good friend Lydia over there." Realisation washes over her face as I say this eye still locked on Scott as he approaches the goal ready to start getting pelted with lacrosse balls. The referee blows the whistle signalling the boys to start practice. Scott hunches over grasping his head as if he's in pain as Jackson takes advantage of his distraction and hurls the ball at the goal.

In his confusion, Scott stops the ball from entering the net ... with his face. Coach and the rest of the players, with the exception of Stiles, burst into laughter at his misfortune. Oh, Scotty, that's got to hurt. I know he's not the best at lacrosse, but he was never that bad. I get up, abandoning Allison to listen to Lydia ranting about the star athlete that is her boyfriend, taking great pride in his athletic achievements in most if not all sports available within the school, with the exception of football. Footballs a joke. Jackson is my friend and all but the way that girl talks about him all the time can get a tad annoying and a little graphic. I stand on the seats of the bleachers using them like steps as I descend towards the goofball on the bench.

When I reach the very last seat thing, I trip over my own two feet and fall forward directly into Stiles' back causing him to have a spaz attack and fall forward off the bench as I continue to fall landing on my stomach where Stiles was previously seating. I suck in a quick gasp of air at the pain in my ribs from the impact with the metal bench and Stiles swivels his head around to face me and sighs in relief with a small smile on his face. I slowly push myself up so as not to jar my ribs again plopping my butt on the bench and pulling Stiles up next to me from where he was now sprawled out on the grass.

"What's up with Scott? What happened last night?" I ask staring out at the lacrosse field and see Scott is back up in the goal. The next guy throws the ball and he catches it. But this time not with his face. What the hell?

Stiles looks startled but still answers my question, "We went to find the body and dad caught me, but not Scott. He says he found the body when he dropped his inhaler. He got bit by an animal, he says it was a wolf but that's impossible," he manages to ramble out at a fast pace, our eyes are still locked on the lacrosse players as more balls are hurled and miraculously all of them are caught by Scott. The hyperactive boy beside me gets a little over-excited and jumps up and starts shouting about how Scott's his friend as one of them has finally achieved some form of athletic ability.

Suddenly an infuriated Jackson stops the next guy as he grabs the ball. Everyone is on the edge of their seats as the ball thrown by the best player on the team flies through the air…only to be caught by Scott. Everyone jumps up and applauds him with the loudest people being a combination of me, Stiles and surprisingly Lydia. Well, that's surely a kick in the balls for Jackson.

I can't help but wonder what is up with Scott. He could barely catch a ball when he and Stiles were practising over the summer, never mind one thrown with so much aggression. What's happened to him?


	5. Meeting Derek Hale

Chapter 5: Meeting Derek Hale

Scott and Stiles trudge through the small stream as I balance across a fallen tree that stretched across the expanse of the muddy water as orange and red leaves drifting across the surface. My worn boots scrape against the rough bark of the tree causing some bits to break off and disturb the water that hadn't been disturbed by my clumsy boys. I didn't notice the splintering stub on the tree until I tripped falling straight into a solid chest. A pair of arms wrapped around my waist to steady me. As I regain my balance my gaze rises up a t-shirt with a target in the middle. My eyes drag past a pair of perfect pink shaded lips that are curved into a smile before reaching the most beautiful pair of honey-coloured eyes.

"And you call us clumsy," Stiles breathes a slight chuckle. The ghost of a smile slowly curves up my lips before I nod my head and pull gently out of his arms. I suddenly miss the warmth of his embrace but carry on after Scott anyways, continuing on a mission to retrieve the inhaler he had dropped whilst he ran through the dark forest last night.

"It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball," Scott continued his rant about practice that I had been ignoring ever since we left school.

Trudging up a slight incline, Scott continues his ranting about weird stuff that's been happening to him since he got bitten by a 'wolf', "And that's not the only weird thing. I can hear things I shouldn't be able to hear. Smell things." I scoff but Stiles looks intrigued.

"Smell things? Like what?" Stiles interrogates. His hands placed defensively on his hips a curious expression graces his features with a hint of disbelief. Scott sighs in frustration at his best friends' inability to believe him.

"Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket," Scott stated matter of factly before Stiles digs around in his pockets mumbling something along the lines of 'I don't have any...' to himself. A few seconds later he pulls a small ball of green gum wrapped in a bit of paper out of his pocket and looks at it in disbelief.

"And all this started with a bite?" he questions a hint of mischief in his eyes. Uh oh, he's up to something and I have a feeling it's going to be bad for Scott.

"What if it's an infection like my body's flooding with adrenaline before it goes into shock or something," the panic in Scott's voice begins to rise, but I know Stiles has ignored it when he decides to mess with someone, he will mess with anyone even if it's his panicking best friend.

"I've actually heard of this. It's a specific kind of infection," Stiles explains a fake look of sympathy on his face. I catch his eye from behind Scott's back subtly shaking my head in an attempt to dissuade him from his actions. But when has he ever listened to me? A wide grin spread across his face for a split second while Scott's attention was elsewhere, most likely on the panicked thoughts rushing through his head.

"Are you serious?" Scott's taking deep breaths now trying to suppress his panic.

"Yeah. I think it's called... Lycanthropy." Stiles sighs the last word as I facepalm behind Scott as his panic continues obviously having no idea what lycanthropy actually is.

"Is it bad. It sounds bad."

Deciding that since Stiles has already started, I may as well join him in his teasing I cut Stiles off before he can continue. "Yeah. Yeah. The worst. But only once a month." His expression shows he's now border lining a panic attack.

"Once a month?" Scott breaths in disbelief, probably wondering what the hell kind of infection only causes problems once a month.

"On the night of the full moon," Stiles clarifies for him. Scott just looks confused at this point, but panic is still evident in his expression although lessening as we continue with the charade. Simultaneously, Stiles and I howled like a wolf. I giggled when Scott pushes Stiles slightly aggravated right on the target on his shirt mumbling something about us 'being asses'.

"There could be something seriously wrong with me," Scott muttered accusingly.

"Yeah you're a werewolf," Stiles reply's growling adorably at the end. Scott shoots him a glare.

"Okay obviously we're kidding," I defended shooting a look at Stiles to knock it out and stop teasing our friend about the topic.

"But if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, its 'cause Friday's the full moon," Stiles continued. I scoffed.

Scott suddenly stops in a small clearing in the trees. The forest floor littered with dead leaves in various shade of orange, yellow and red. "No. I-I could have sworn this was it. I saw the body... deer came running... I dropped my inhaler," Scott muttered kicking leaves out of the way.

"Maybe the killer moved the body," Stiles suggests. I get the sudden feeling we're being watched as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I swiftly look around seeing no one in the process.

"Well if they did, I hope they left my inhaler. Those things are like 80 bucks," Scott sighed still sifting through the leaves. I glance around and there stood a man dressed all in black, he appeared out of nowhere, I could have sworn he wasn't there a second ago. His persona just screamed danger. His dark hair spiked and piercing green eyes glaring right at us. Stiles must have noticed me staring behind him because he spins, arms flailing, to catch sight of the man and hits Scott on the shoulder to get his attention off searching for his inhaler.

"What are you doing here! Huh?! This is private property," the man exclaims his voice devoid of emotion, glaring at us pointedly.

"Look sorry man. We didn't know," Stiles tries to reason, subtly standing more in front of me, not that the man would notice as his attention was solely locked on Scott.

"Yeah we were just... looking for something... but it doesn't matter," Scott spoke up. The man chucked something towards Scott before silently walking away. Scott opened his hand to reveal his inhaler. What the hell?

"Okay I have to go to work," Scott mumbles turning to leave, only to be stopped by Stiles grabbing his arm.

"Dude that was Derek Hale," Stiles exclaims in a whisper." You remember right? He's just a few years older than us," he continues when Scott gives him a blank look.

"Remember what?" Scott retorts exasperatedly.

"His whole family burned in a fire like ten years ago," I elaborate less excited by the prospect than Stiles appeared to be.

"I wonder he's doing back?"

"I don't know... C'mon." Stiles grabs my arm and drags me away from the clearing that once held half a dead body.


	6. Chapter 6: Home Sweet Home

The wind rushes through my curly brown hair as my penny board glides across the gravelly path through the preserve. The trees rush by and birds fly overhead AC/DC fills my ears. After the creepy encounter with the one and only Derek Hale, Scotty ditched me and Stiles because he had work and shortly after that Stiles bailed on me murmuring a quick excuse about chemistry homework. Which is strange because we don't have any.

I swerve around a corner and start down my street towards the building in which I spend the majority of my existence and my own personal hell. I can't exactly say home because it isn't, not for a very long time. And I don't exactly live there either I simply exist and get punished. My only purpose in life is to not be suspicious and get the thing who calls himself my father discovered for what he truly is.

At the end of the driveway, I kick up the board and pull out my earbuds strolling casually towards the front door as though I actually wanted to go inside. I almost didn't notice the banged-up old car Father drives. I hoped it was just an illusion or my mind playing tricks on me but alas today is not my lucky day. I am in some deep shit now, I am supposed to come home straight after practice with Isaac. Standing on the porch I slowly reach out towards the dull silver coloured door handle but before I can even touch it the door swings open and there he stands. In all his fury. My Father.

His hands are balled into fists turning his knuckles white and his face a slightly red colour. "Get in here?" he spat grabbing my elbow and gripping it so tightly I can feel the bruise blowing already, before yanking me into the entrance hall and dragging me into the kitchen before practically throwing me into the dirty white wooden chair. I stare at the faded and peeling yellow wall opposite me instead of into his eyes which are filled with hatred and more anger than I thought a human being could contain. Keeping my expression neutral I awaited what was to come, it’s not the first time I’ve come home late, nor, I fear, will it be the last. What could he possibly do to harm me more than he already has? What else could he put me through? What else could he take from me?

"Where have you been? You should have been home an hour and a half ago," he demanded, almost sounding like a normal concerned parent. He just wants to make sure no one knows, to make sure last night’s lesson sunk in as he had hoped. As long as his skin is safe, he’s fine with destroying mine.

"My friend lost his inhaler and I was helping him find it," I replied monotonously. In my peripheral vision, I saw a slight twinkle of knowing in his eye. Oh shit. He knows. Why couldn’t I have just said I was studying in the library? Or with Lydia? Or Jackson?

"Your only friend that needs an inhaler is Scott McCall, who never seems to be separated from the sheriff’s kid. You were with him too weren't you." It wasn't a question more of a statement. A statement filled with malice.

"N-no," the word catching in my throat as I attempt a casual response. Fear builds in my chest. He can't do this to me again. I still haven't recovered from last night.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me." He enunciated each word venomously, before backhanding me across the face. I would have laughed at how much he sounded like Snape from Harry Potter but was too stunned from the slap to do anything, not that laughing would have helped in the first place.

Falling to the floor I touch my cheek which is still bruised from last night and now stinging from the new impact. He kicks me in the stomach before throwing me over his shoulder and heading towards the freshly painted sunshine yellow door towards the basement. The wooden stairs creaked under the weight as I wiggled trying to get out of his grasp, attempting to kick and punch him to release me, when suddenly he lets go leaving me to tumble onto the cold scratched up ground.

Shuffling backwards my back hits the wall and he stalks towards me. The only light source is a small window above Isaacs’s freezer which is so dirty it only let in enough light to see vague silhouettes. There is something different though I can feel it. Slowly raising my head upwards, I see swinging directly above me a pair of manacles that had not previously been there casting an ominous shadow across the wall. I gulp knowing tonight it's going to be different from every other time.

I didn't notice how close he was, distracted by the new addition to the basement until it was too late, and he had pulled me to my feet and snapped the restraints onto my wrists. Panicking I yanked on the chains, but it was no use, the edged of the cuffs dug into the flesh of my wrists ever so slightly. I should have kept an eye on my tormentor. I watch as he approached a nearby table made of rotten wood. There are various tools scattered across the surface: hammers, pliers, saws, tools that to anyone else would raise no suspicion. When he turned back to face me, he kept one hand behind his back, hiding his choice from my terrified eyes and stalked forward like a starving wolf.

Standing directly in front of me I watch as he pulls his hand from behind his back and I see a glint of silver. Holy shit. He wouldn't dare do that. Bruises I can easily hide, but not this, this is a lot harder to hide. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain across my stomach, and I couldn't hold in the ear-piercing scream that clawed its way out of my throat, proving me wrong in my thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7: Then We'll be Free

It's dark except for a slither of bright piercing light coming through the seam where the lid and the box meet on the old toy box I have been stuffed inside. My head is pounding from where I had smashed it against the floor when He threw me down the stairs of the basement. Usually, I would be out of here by now because Isaac got me out to go to school but it was different this time, he was angrier.

He had threatened Isaac that if he let me out, he would take a trip to his freezer, I know because that was the last thing I had heard last night before I blacked out. I'm glad Isaac didn't go against him. There's no point in both of us being stuck in here. Isaac doesn't deserve this. He always does what he's told and always tries his best in school. He knows the consequences and fears suffering them more than he wants to have fun.

Me on the other hand, I almost never do what I'm told, my need for adventure and mischief far outweighs the consequences. The fun I have with my friends, especially my boys is one of the only light parts of the dark that is my life.

I still hang out with Scott and Stiles despite being explicitly told not to … repeatedly. I'm almost always home late from school. I mean sure I get good grades but that's more for my future than what Him. Maybe I should just do what he says for Isaac because I’m sure not going to do it just to give him the satisfaction.

If it wasn't for me Isaac wouldn't get in trouble for trying to help me. I should just do what he says... I mean I won't be stuck here forever or anything. Not if I have anything to say about it. It's just until I graduate. Just until college, I can do that..., right? Then we'll be free if his tyranny and all the pain he has caused us.

Suddenly the dark space floods with light. I cower away from the intensity of the light and close my eyes tight. I feel the fresh bruises on my back aching from the sudden movement and the cuts that had scabbed over open up and begin to bleed again. Softy hands gently push my matted hair behind my ear tilting my head I'm assuming in the direction of the owner of the hands.

The touch is familiar and gentle as though I'm made of fragile porcelain and they’re afraid I'll break if they make the wrong movement or grip just a fraction too hard. Gingerly I open my eyes meeting eyes flooded with worry a similar colour to my own. Isaac.

His fingers gently brush over areas of my face I'm assuming where bruises now colour my usually pale skin. I glance down at the front of my shirt and see the blood seeping through the white tank top. I place my hand over the area where the wound is and look back into the eyes of my twin.

His eyes trail down my body to where my hand now rests. Horror floods his expression and he gently begins to put one of his arms under my knees and the other around my back slowly standing to carry me up both flights of stairs and into our tiny shared bedroom.

He lowers me gently onto the small lumpy bed that we share before rushing out of the room, probably to fetch the first aid kit to patch me up. This isn't the first time I've gotten a little cut up, but it was never this bad before, he’s never done it purposefully before. Only ever accidentally when he’s hit too hard.

The pale blue walls provided no warmth or comfort to our room as though the very colour of the room is confirming our notion that nowhere in this building is safe. Not a thing was out of place because we know that if it was, we'd get a little more than grounded for it. All the school books we keep here are aligned on a shelf on the wall opposite the bed the tallest books on the left to the shortest book on the right. The books were supported by a small blue and red robot figure on the left and a pink and purple unicorn on the right. They had been presents from our parents on our third birthday before Mom left us. The floors were a faded wood and had a couple of scratches near the door where we've tried to prevent him dragging us out of here a couple of times, deeper than those in the basement.

My view of the scratch marks is then blocked by the pair of old battered black Converse of my twin. In his hands, he carries a bundle of white bandage, a bottle of alcohol and a couple of cotton pads for my wounds. He slowly crosses the tiny room as though afraid I would bolt like a terrified wounded deer. As he takes a seat next to me on our bed, I slowly lift the hem of my shirt over my head as I had plenty of times before.

Isaac sucks in a quick breath before pouring a little bit of alcohol onto one of the cotton pads. The cuts stretch across my stomach left to right at a slight angle. He dabs the cotton gently against an oozing slash. It isn't the only cut I have their either. The skin under the cut is also marred with scars and there are even a few slashings down my back, some from knives, others from a particularly nasty belt buckle.

I wince at the stinging sensation as he mumbles apologies, which I quickly dismiss with a wave of my hand but maintain the grimace on my face.

After he had bandaged me up and I had changed into blood-free clothes, disposing of the others, we lay on our bed in each other’s embrace seeking comfort and reassurance that we're both still here and relatively okay.

"I'm going to be okay Issy. I have a plan and it will be all okay again. We just have to make it until we graduate and then we'll be okay again," I mumble into his chest. He sighs and runs his fingers through my chocolate coloured curls.

"Car that's not for another three years how can I be sure that you'll be okay by that stage? How can I be sure that we'll both make it through this? You're my little sister I'm supposed to worry about other boys at school hurting you not our father," Isaac mumbled into the top of my hair.

"Hey, you’re only older by like five minutes and I'm positive we'll both make it through this we're strong and it'll take a little more than a controlling sociopath to get rid of us," I say into his shirt slightly pushing his shoulder in a joking manner.

"Yeah I guess so," he smiles slightly.

"Just until graduation. Then we'll be free."


	8. Chapter 8: Ride Home

Standing in front of the house of my best friend in a black dress that ended mid-thigh and was form-fitting around my chest but flared out at my waist wouldn't be so bad had I not been just pulled from the confines of the box by my twin and had bandages wrapped around my still very bruised and cut up waist. They were difficult to disguise in this particular dress, but I have managed to smooth them out enough that you wouldn’t notice them unless you knew the bandages were there in the first place.

I can't believe I came to this. I think I've lost it. My whole body aches from being cramped in that tiny box and I can't move properly due to all the bandages Isaac had to wrap around my stomach to cover the cuts He had inflicted. Why did I have to agree to come to this party? This is the last thing I wanted to do, but it was better than facing that man tonight. At least he allowed me out to keep up appearances with some of my friends.

The pounding beat of the music could be heard from a few streets over and the flashing coloured lights where almost mesmerizing. A few people already lay unconscious on Lydia's front garden red solo cups either still clutched in their hands or lay surrounding them. The party had only just started but it was not surprising that some of the attendees were already so far gone this was a famous Lydia Martin party.

I climb the stairs with a little difficulty due to the pain in my stomach and the black high heeled boots I had decided to wear like the genius I am. Pushing open the wooden door I am instantly assaulted with the smell of various types of alcohol and sweat. The only available light came from the flashing strobe lights and the doorway that lead to the back yard where Lydia told me she would be.

I slowly made my way through the crowd of the writhing bodies of my classmates, doing my best not to jostle my wounds, towards the back but as I pass through the doorway, I bump into someone's chest.

"I am so sorry," I apologise profusely before looking up to be met with the slightly concerned look on my dorky best friend’s face.

"Carter! I was so worried why weren't you in school? What happened? Are you alright? Never mind we can talk later right now we have to worry about Scott. Something's going to happen to him. Something big," Stiles rambles getting a firm grip on my upper arms, his words stumbling over each other, his breathing frantic. His caramel-coloured eyes, swimming with concern and worry, stare directly into my own.

"What? What's wrong with Scott?" panic began to rise in my chest. What could have happened in the day I was confined to the box? What could have possibly worked Stiles up so much?

"You remember that joke from the other day?" Stiles asks and I nod in reply," Yeah. Not a joke anymore. And tonight's the full moon. We need to find Scott. He's somewhere here with Allison."

"Alright, okay. We'll split up and see if we can find Scott and Allison. If you see them text me where you are and if I find them, I'll text you okay," I suggest taking a few steps backwards ready to begin my search. He nods in response before frantically disappearing into the crowd of unknowing teenagers, I swiftly turn once I have lost sight of him only to be met with another solid chest.

I slowly look up to see the person that I have walked into an apology on my lips only to meet the very puppy-dog eyed teen I was about to go looking for. "Scott," I exclaimed my hands resting on his upper arms a pained expression clear on his face, sweat forming on his brow and his usual brown eyes seemingly lighter and more golden. An overwhelming feeling of concern takes over my body as I look into the face of my best friend. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need some fresh air," he says seeming to choke out his words, pushing past me and Stiles but hesitates before getting swallowed into the mass of writhing bodies turning back towards us. "Carter. Make sure Allison is fine and gets home okay." He only stays long enough to see my nod before taking off.

"Scott," I hear Allison yell and I follow her voice only to find the sweet girl looking frantically for the boy who had just rushed away.

I have to fix this. If not for my bet with Stiles, then for my newly bitten friend. As she got closer to me making her way towards the door, I reach out for her arm and call for her, “Ally.”

“I have to find Scott. He was acting strange,” she mutters distracted slowing down only slightly, eyes still locked on the door that has been left open. I follow her out just in time to see Scott drive away in his mother’s car. “Did I do something?”

“No, Ally. Stiles said he’s been sick all day. Trust me. I’ve never seen him so into someone before in my life,” I reassure, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.

“He was my ride home,” she murmurs in sadness and disappointment. You’ve really screwed up this time Scotty, haven’t you?

“I’m sure Lydia wouldn…” I’m cut off by the rough voice that I’ve only ever heard once before.

“Allison,” the dark stranger named Derek called out, a charming smile replacing the stern look he had the last time I ran into him greeting me and my saddened new-found friend, “I’m a friend of Scott’s. My name’s Derek.”

His demeanour is a lot more friendly than it had been last time, if a little awkward, as though he hadn’t had to be personable in some time. His hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket as he strode towards us.

“He’s sick and asked me to give you a ride home,” Derek stated striding passed us towards a black shiny Camaro, turning only to see if she was following, “you too Carter.”

The way he said my name causes chills to run down my spine. He must have overheard us yesterday. He nods his head in the direction of the car and turns once again. Stiles comes running out of the house, breathing heavily, still panicked.

“Carter! Allison!” he calls out, quickly approaching us. As he opens his mouth to launch into some sort of ramble, I cut him off.

“Scott’s away homesick. Me and Ally are going to get a ride with Derek. Go check on him, Stiles,” I mutter, gently pushing Allison towards the dark stranger, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I rush Allison forward, only looking back once I’d reached the car to see Stiles fumbling with his car keys at the door to his Jeep. Sliding onto the leather of the front seat of Derek Hale’s car, I glance back at Allison, her face reflecting her discomfort and sadness, her black blazer folded carefully beside her.

The entire journey to the Argent household was shrouded with tense silence. Derek’s eyes fixed firmly on the road, while Ally stared wistfully out the window, likely wondering what she could have possibly done wrong.

The car gently glided to a halt, the bright light coming from the wide windows of the house we had stopped in front of alerting the girl in the back seat to our arrival. She carefully opened the door and swung her feet out and hesitantly turned back, “Thank you for the ride, Derek. I’ll see you tomorrow, Carter.”

Derek barely nods in acknowledgement whilst I reply, “See ya, Ally.”

As soon as the brunette girl has opened the double doors of the giant house, the car begins to move again. The silence, suffocating. The street I had grown up on more ominous in the dark as my own personal hell becoming clearer with each passing second. My heart rate began to rise as the battered car of my father became clearer.

The car came to a stop and I pause, take a deep breath and then open the door. I swing my legs out of the car and then feel a soft warm hand on my arm. I am met with piercing eyes when I turn to see what it was.

“Be careful,” he mutters after a moment of hesitation, releasing me and returning to staring straight ahead.

“Thanks.”

As the door clicks shut, the engine of the sleek Camaro revs and swiftly races off into the night. With a sigh I turn towards the darkened house and prepare to sneak in, slipping off my heels and slowly and gingerly opening the door to prevent it creaking. Home, Sweet Home.


	9. Scotty's Second Chance

The boy’s locker room smelled like old gym socks and a teenage boy who hasn’t showered in 37 days. The only people occupying the room were Scott, Stiles and me. The rest of the team was already out on the field for practice. Scott's shedding his clothes whilst lost in thought. Stiles over excitedly fires questions his direction. I lay on a bench examining the chipped red nail polish, only half paying attention to the boy’s girl troubles.

“Did you apologize to Allison?” Stiles asks, swinging around the corner towards Scott, as he looks blankly into his locker.

“Yeah.”

“Is she giving you a second chance or- “

“Yeah,” his voice is strained, as though he was in pain. This grabs my attention, I sit up and swing my legs so I’m facing the boys.

Stiles turns to grab his stick and helmet, “Yeah! All right. So, everything’s good.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong, Scotty? I thought you’d be over the moon,” I stand and approach the lost boy, concerned about what could be bothering him so much.

“Remember – The hunters?” he directs his words towards Stiles. “Her dad is one of ‘em.”

“Wait. What hunters? What happened last night after you left?” worry for my wolfy friend clouds my thoughts. But, I am ignored by the two boys. One frantically muttering about how he had been shot with a crossbow the previous night.

The muttering ends when Scott, yells out in frustration, “Yes! Her father! Oh my God.” His breathing picks up as panic sets in. Who wouldn’t panic when they find out the girl they’re dating’s father wants nothing more than to erase them from existence?

Placing my hands gently on either side of his face I force him to look me in the eyes, “Scott. It’s going to be ok. Yeah? He didn’t recognise you, did he?” I say in a low soothing voice. The same voice I use to comfort Isaac when he’s spent the night in the freezer.

“No. N-no. I don’t think so,” he stumbles over his words as he tries to calm his breathing. I open my mouth to reassure the panicking boy.

“Does she know about him?” Stiles butts in. I hit him when the teenage werewolf’s breathing increases once again.

“Not helping,” I spit through gritted teeth, as Scotty begins to mutter.

“Oh yeah. I don’t know. What if she does? This is gonna kill me, man.”

“Okay, just focus on lacrosse. Okay, here." Gathering up Scott’s lacrosse gear Stiles gently pushes me out of the way and shoves them into the arms of the inconsolable boy, “Take this, and focus on lacrosse for now, okay? That’s all you gotta do, yeah?”

Scotty nods as Stiles slaps him on the shoulder.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got this under control,” I back away making a circular gesture with my arms, “I’ll be on the bleachers.” I back up towards the door into the hall, but make a sharp turn before passing through the frame towards my brothers’ locker.

He was sporting a split lip and some light bruising along his jawline. When I had returned last night, he had been curled up on our bed, hugging a pillow. He had gotten a B+ on an English assignment.

I gently place my hand on his shoulder from behind as he sits on a bench tying his shoes and he just about jumps out of his skin. He swings his arm out in defence, lashing out in fear, I easily dodge the attack after years of practice. Sitting down beside him I put my arm around him as his body tremors slightly.

“You gonna be ok to play, Izzy,” I murmur into his ear, as he shakes off the scare and finishes lacing up his shoes.

He sighs, grabbing his gloves, crosse and helmet, “I’ll live. It’s not like I can stop playing.” His white practice jersey still stained green and brown from the last practice. He had said he was going to wash them last night. “I’ve gotta go. Coach will be mad if I’m late again, I’ll see you after practice. Try not to get in too much trouble.”

He leaves me there running off down the hallway. He’s always is a lot quieter after some time in the freezer. If only I had been there last night instead of at that stupid party.

Exhaling I stand and make my way to the field to show support to all my boys, both on the team and warming the bench. And to avoid going home for a little while longer. Anything to justify avoiding that place a little longer. I would voluntarily spend time with Harris to avoid that place.

Fewer people occupy the bleachers than the first day of school, but the determined redhead was there, as she always was, in support of her boyfriend. Approaching her, she fixes me with a blank look. Emotionless. The look she gives to people she deems unworthy of her attention or who have displeased her, like the Red Queen of Beacon Hills High.

“I didn’t see you at the party,” she says flatly, her voice hard and mean. The persona she has built up for the world to see shielding the warm person I know she is.

“I was there, Lyd,” I defend softly, my hands clasped together, I avert my gaze. The cold look deep in her eyes makes me uncomfortable and causes a sharp pain in my heart. “Something came up and I got a ride with Allison.”

Raising a perfect eyebrow and leaning back in her seat, clearly not believing me, “Allison said she got a ride home with some guy that knows Scott.”

“A guy that I don’t know. A guy Allison doesn’t know,” I iterate firmly, “I wasn’t about to let her go god knows where with a guy who could have done god knows what to her. I was not about to hear about another body in the woods because some guy said he knew Scott.” Anger combined with fear beginning to rise in my chest.

Lydia’s face softens and relaxes her posture, “Well you missed a good party … again. You promised you’d be at this one.” Her voice whined a little, disappointment blended with understanding clear in her voice.

Taking a seat beside her I lightly cross my arms, “If I recall correctly, I said I would see what my dad said.”

Lydia waves her hand, dismissing my statement. “Next time, I’m coming to your house and dragging you to my party,” she states, unknowing of how that prospect made my blood pressure rise and my breath to catch in my throat, “You’re 16, Carter, not 60. Live a little.” She nudges my arm jokingly, a smile spread across her face.

“Oh, haha. I’ll …” my sentence was cut short by some commotion on the field. Coach and the rest of the team rush over to a figure, lying on the ground whilst another figure hunches over nearby. Worry rushes through me. Who is it that’s gotten hurt? Is it Isaac? Scott? It can’t be Stiles his jersey is red because he didn’t make first line.

Lydia gasps beside me, able to see the number on the jersey of the injured party. She breathes out, “Jackson,” and takes off faster than I’ve ever seen her, usually too concerned about scuffing her brand-new designer shoes for haste.

The utterance makes my heart stop and I take after her, only vaguely aware of the pair of players running hastily off the field.


	10. Chapter 10: Hospital

The smell of hospitals has never been particularly comforting. Most people associate it with sickness or that one time they broke their arm falling out of a tree. I associate it with fear. The last time I had been in the ER was because I had fallen off my board in front of the Stilinski house and twisted my ankle. I wasn’t hurt badly, but Claudia had been concerned that I had sprained or broken it and had driven me in her Jeep to the ER. She was a wonderful woman. That night I had been in the worse pain of my life (well up until that day anyway) when my father found out. It’s the only lesson he’s ever managed to beat into me.  
The small hard chair is uncomfortable, and my posture is painfully straight as I sit staring at the floor with my legs crossed and arms folded in my lap. My black worn boot bobs and I wait impatiently for news on the injured lacrosse captain. Lydia sits next to me subconsciously twirling her hair as she speaks with someone on her Bluetooth. We had been here a couple of hours waiting to hear about Jackson’s condition. Before we left, I had asked Isaac to tell Father where I was if he asked. He likes Jackson and Lydia, He thinks they’re too stupid or self-involved to notice anything is wrong.  
My stomach twists with worry for the injured boy, the only sounds filling the air is the squeak of the shoes as nurses wander passed and the clack of the keyboard at the reception desk. Felling the need to do something other than sit and fret I stand and mumble, “I’m gonna go get something from the vending machine.”  
Lydia doesn’t acknowledge my words, too engrossed in her conversation to notice my departure. The vending machines reside in a small nook down a short hallway just off the waiting area. It is far enough that you could no longer see the waiting room, but you could still faintly hear any conversations that may be occurring.  
The machine, though fully stocked, had a rather dismal selection of off-brand candy bars and chips, sighing I insert a slightly crumpled dollar bill from my back pocket and select a plain chocolate bar. The wires holding the bar in place rotate slowly before releasing the chocolate and letting it drop with a light thud. Retrieving my bar, I slowly make my way back towards the waiting room to continue dwelling in my worry.  
Turning into the depressing room, I notice a new addition sitting just around the corner from the seemingly unconcerned strawberry blonde girl staring blankly at a pamphlet about menstruation.  
Quickening my steps I approach the boy. “You know,” He jumps at the sudden sound of my voice, “If you wanted to know about that you just had to ask.”  
He closes the pamphlet quickly and looks at the cover, pink slowly spreading across his cheek as he gawps in embarrassment. Stuttering out some syllables not able to correctly form a sentence he throws the pamphlet onto the coffee table to his left as though burning his hands.  
I giggle and plop down beside him. “I know you’re not here to make sure Jackson is ok. So, what brings you here?” I question raising an eyebrow and plopping down on the seat beside him. I lean forward onto the armrest between the chairs. His breathing catches in his throat.  
“Um…,” he diverts his eyes from me, “Scott thinks he’s found the body. He smelled blood when he went to confront Derek about Allison so he’s going to see if the blood matches the half that’s here.” His words hushed and rushed together, preventing anyone else hearing the insane words that were leaving his mouth.  
“Scott can smell blood?” I question, worry rising in my chest. If Scott smells my blood, then he’ll surely find out. And he won’t be as easily dissuaded as Jackson is. He wants everyone to be happy and healthy. He wants to save everyone from their problems.  
“Yeah. But that’s not really the point. If Derek buried that girl, then he probably killed her and bit Scott,” Stiles mutters turning to me and looking into my face.  
“What are you planning to do? Dig up the body?” I scoff, looking as he once again diverts his eyes, my expression scrunches in disbelief. “Stiles, tell me you are not going to dig up a body.”  
“I won’t tell you then,” he mumbles playing with his hands.  
“Stiles…” I am cut off by a frantic Scott quickly running up, panting.  
“The scent was the same,” he rushes out.  
“You sure,” Stiles replies ignoring my previous line of questioning, looking at the boy in disbelief.  
“Yes.”  
“So, he did bury the other half of the body on his property?” Stiles ponders this, the wheels visibly turning in his head as he devises a scheme in which to uncover the truth without his father, the sheriff, finding out. Not that he’s gotten very much past him in the past.  
“Which means we have proof he killed the girl,” Scott quietly exclaims, excitement embedded in his tone.  
A determined look washes over Stiles’ face, “I say we use it.”  
“How?”  
“Tell me something first. Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game, and he said you couldn’t?” Stiles scepticism clear in his words causing me to turn to Scott and raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms, not that he notices  
“There are bite marks on the legs, Stiles – bite marks,” desperation enters the boy's voice in his attempts to convince the sceptical boy in front of him, flailing his arms subtly.  
“Okay, we’re gonna need a shovel,” a serious look set on Stiles face as he leaps up.  
“Wait, shovel! Why do you need a shovel?” I exclaim in a whisper. The pair finally look at me, no longer engrossed in each other.  
A smirk spreads across Stiles' face, “If you want to find out, you’ll have to come with us.” He reached a hand out towards me holding it for me to grab. A mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he stares directly into my soul. I smirk back and begin to move to grab his hand only to be cut off by a strong voice, with an arrogant tinge to it.  
“Carter!”  
Turning I see Jackson, holding his shoulder gently but clearly not in as much pain as he had been this afternoon. I breathe a sigh of relief as the coil of worry in my stomach relaxes. Looking back at Stiles with an apologetic look, the sparkle in his eyes dulled, “I’m sorry. My dad’s expecting me home with Jackson.”  
“It’s alright,” his voice barely louder than a mutter, “maybe next time.” He turns with Scott and they swiftly left out the double doors.  
“What did he want?” Jackson lightly sneers from behind me.  
“Nothing,” I mutter, longing after the trouble those boys were bound to end up in. “Are you okay? You took quite the hit.” Concern rising in my voice as I turn and inspect the boy’s shoulder, he waved me off with his unharmed hand.  
“Just a separated shoulder. The doctor gave me a shot of cortisone. I think I’ll live,” his face remained the hard mask it always is while we are in public, but a hint of appreciation leaked into his voice. “Let’s get you home before your dad gets back.”  
He gently pushed me towards the door and put his arm around Lydia. Dread clawed its way up my throat at the mention of my father. It’ll be okay. I’m with Jackson. He’s probably still at the graveyard.  
…I hope.


	11. Chapter 11: The Arrest of Derek Hale

The cold wind nips at my cheeks as I trudge through the forest towards an old burnt shell of a house. Leaves crunching under my feet and occasionally getting kicked up. As the blackened building comes into view so does a faded blue jeep parked in the treeline with a flannel-clad boy fidgeting in front of it, anxiously watching as policemen milled around and stretched tape around an upturned pile of dirt. As I approach Stiles from behind, he’s bouncing on his toes and lightly biting the knuckle of his index finger.  
“I got your text,” my voice startles him, “How come all the interesting stuff happens when I’m not around?” I chuckle leaning against the hood of the Jeep. He turns towards me, a small smile crinkling his cheeks.  
“You wouldn’t miss it if you had come with us,” he retorts nudging my arm, leaning beside me and crossing his arms.  
I fall gently into his side to nudge him with my shoulder, “If I go with you boys everywhere you wouldn’t have time to miss me. And, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your alone time with your dearest Scotty.”  
He turns his head, mouth agape in offence as I make kissy faces at him. He releases a sharp gasp and leans forward, his mint mojito breath washing over my face. Opening his mouth in retort, he is abruptly interrupted by the sudden appearance of one Scott McCall.  
He wanders around the car looking down at his phone screen, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen. Stiles quickly moves away from me, putting some more distance between us and clears his throat.  
“Melissa still freaking out?” he asks casually causing the distracted wolf-boy to look up. His face scrunches in surprise when his eyes land on me. I raise a hand in greeting.  
“She’ll live,” he mutters shoving his phone into the back pocket of his muddy jeans and taking up position beside us, his arms crossing.  
The dark broody werewolf is lead out of the burnt-out house at that moment by Sheriff Stilinski and one of his deputies. The blue eyes of the man stare icily towards us as he is put into the back of the police cruiser. His stare is unsettling, almost as though he was staring into my soul.  
In an attempt to shake off the feeling I turn to Scott, “Mama McCall find out about the body?” I turn to look at the boy and get the cruiser out of my line of sight. Scott glances at me before returning his gaze to the police officers behind me.  
“Ye-,” he cuts himself off, “No. Oh, God!” He stands abruptly tangling his hand in his hair. Confused I turn just in time to see Stiles climb into the front of the cruiser with the murder suspect. I quickly look at the spot he once occupied. That boy is going to get himself hurt someday with these shenanigans.  
“What is he doing?” I murmur, mostly to myself.  
Scott sighs, “Who has ever known the answer to that question?” He moves closer to me and takes up the position the crazy boy in the police car once was. Only one person did. And she is long gone. Shaking my head to rid myself of the memories of the small frail frame in the hospital bed and shifting uncomfortably pulling at my bandaged midsection. I feel a tug at one of my scabs and a dull pain as the wound begins to leak.  
I keep a neutral expression and clear my throat as I look up at the boy at my side. “How are you holding up? Last time we had time to talk you were nearly having a panic attack over Allison’s dad?”  
As Scott slowly turns his head to me tearing his eyes away from the boy in the front of the cop car disbelief colouring his features, “Is this really the time to discuss my failing love life?”  
“While we’re waiting for Stiles’ dad to drag him out of the car before he gets mauled by a werewolf, why not?” the wind lightly blows my hair from behind my ear. Tussling the locks gently. His face shifts slightly to one of concern.  
“Are you…” he is quickly cut off by the loud authoritative voice of Sheriff Stilinski.  
“Stiles!” the man drags the boy out of the car by his arm and jostles him to stand in front of him, a stern look firmly planted on his face. “There. Stand. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the quietening voice of the Sheriff drifts on the breeze towards us.  
“That took longer than I thought it would,” I gently chuckle, shifting slightly under the concerned stare of the werewolf beside me.  
“Carter,” his voice was stern but had a much softer tone than that of the man confronting his son 20 feet away. “You smell like blood. Are you ok?”  
My pulse quickens. Breath catching in my throat, I try to swallow but my mouth is suddenly dry. He can’t know. No one else can know. “I’m fine,” I wave him off nervously, my movements purposeful and well-practised, “Just missed a step. You know what I’m like. Always having accidents.” His eyes shone with concern, but he seemed to be appeased by my words.  
“You should be more careful,” Scott gently pushed my shoulder with a fist, a small smile spreading on his face. Out of the corner of my eye, Stiles approaches us, his shoulders sagged, and head lowered, hands in his pockets.  
“Now, where’s the fun in that Scotty,” I nudge him and make my way around the Jeep to the passenger door, climbing in only to be quickly joined by my boys.  
The Jeep moves swiftly and not very smoothly through the trees, quickly joining the main road into Beacon Hills. Stiles looks blankly out the windscreen as he drives over the speed limit along the deserted road and Scotty searches on his phone in an attempt to get answers as to why that girl was buried surrounded in wolfsbane. I sit quietly in the back seat, pulling the sleeves of my shirt down around my hands and lean forward placing my arms down on the back of the seat between the two boys and rest my head on them.  
Scott breaks the silence in his frustration, “I can’t find anything about wolfsbane being used for burial.” He drops his phone into his lap, seemingly giving up on his search.  
Stiles quickly interjects, his voice rapid as always, “Just keep looking. Maybe it’s like a ritual or something like maybe they bury you as a wolf.” I look at his reflection in the rear-view mirror his thought process visibly racing in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s a special skill, you know? Like something you have to learn.”  
“I’ll put it on my to-do list, right underneath figuring out how the hell I’m playing this game tonight,” Scott sighs, fidgeting with his phone irritably.  
“Maybe it’s different for girl werewolves,” I speak up from my position between the two boys playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of my shirt.  
“Okay! Stop it!” the increasingly irritated boy yells suddenly causing my heart to jump into my throat and my body to fall back into the back seat away from the loud voice. My hands shake as I push a strand of hair from in front of my eyes. My heart clenches and breaths come out in gasps as the sudden aggression from the usually kind-hearted boy startled me.  
“Stop what?” Stiles mutters while glancing in the rear-view mirror concern swirling in his eyes.  
Scott not noticing my reaction to his outburst, too engorged in his own irritation and frustration at his situation, “Stop saying werewolves! Stop enjoying this so much!”  
“Are you ok?” the question was directed at both me and Scott, Stiles voice was dripping with concern.  
“No! No, I’m not. I’m so far from being ok.”  
Stiles sighs, returning his gaze to the road briefly, he adjusts his grip on the wheel, “You know, you’re gonna have to accept this, Scott, sooner or later.”  
Scott’s breathing gets audibly heavier, panic rising on his face, as I continue to gasp quietly “I can’t.”  
“Well, you’re gonna have to,” Stiles glances between us. The car slowed slightly as he divides his attention between his passengers and the road ahead. I gently clench and unclench my fists, giving me something to focus on other than the memories screaming for attention.   
Scott slams his hand into the window causing me to sink further into the seat and Stiles to jump and look at him in the corner of his eye, “No! I can’t breathe. Ah, pull over!”  
The Jeep begins to slow.  
“Why? What’s happening?” Stiles says turning to Scott, who had grabbed Stiles backpack and began to frantically rifle through it. He pulls out a small purple flower that has a length of rope attached to the roots, crumbs of dirt clinging to the length. My breathing has softened, the gasping subsiding, but I continue to clench my fists to anchor myself in reality.  
“You kept it?” he shouts incredulously as he throws his head back against the seat a look of pain straining his face and shoving the plant deep back into the bag.  
“What was I supposed to do with it?” Stiles voice raises slightly in defence of his actions.  
Scott drops the backpack and slams a hand into the door, “Stop the car!” Scott’s voice was deeper and ended with an audible growl. The jeep swerved as Stiles is startled by the sudden aggression from the other boy before coming to an abrupt halt throwing both me and Stiles forwards. The back of the seat colliding with the still aching bruises eliciting a sharp hiss through my teeth. Stiles flies out of the door holding the backpack and runs towards the tree line. The other boy swings open his door.  
“Scott –,” I begin, but it’s too late. He had already disappeared into the darkness of the trees.  
“Okay – okay. We’re good, can you –,” Stiles shouts as he returns to the Jeep, only to notice the passenger door wide open and the empty seat “Scott? Scott?”  
Climbing into the front seat I look at the dumbstruck boy on the side of the road. His mouth slightly agape as his head moves frantically to scan the tree line on the opposite side of the road, desperately searching for the growling wolfboy.  
“He’s gone, Stiles. We won’t find him in the woods. He’d be too fast for us now.”  
The boy hurriedly jumped into the driver’s seat and raced back towards civilization.  
The car rushed through the woods at a speed that his father would disapprove of, jostling me at every corner, causing the seat belt to uncomfortably rub against my ribs. Continuing with the actions Sheriff Stilinski would disapprove of, Stiles pulls out his cell and dials a number familiar to both of us and put it on speaker, handing it off to me. An exasperated but familiar voice drifts out of the small box. “Stiles, you know you can’t call the dispatch line while I’m on duty.”  
He sighs in response before impatiently blurting out “I just need to know if you’ve got any odd calls.”   
“Odd how?” the woman responds, intrigue shining through the previous exasperation of the woman by the hyperactive boy’s request.  
“Uh, like an odd person or – a dog-like individual roaming the streets.”  
A sigh is heard from the other end of the line before in a flat tone she responds, “I’m hanging up now.”   
“No! Wai- wai- wai- wai- wait,” he stumbles over his words in an attempt to prevent the woman from ending the conversation.  
“Goodbye!” and the line went dead. Stiles slams his fist into the steering wheel, the Jeep swerving on the road at the action, before quickly being corrected. I set my hand on his knee in reassurance.  
“He’ll be ok, Stiles,” I attempt to sooth the boy from his frantic thoughts, “He just needs to calm down.”  
“But what if the hunters find him?” he sighs staring straight out the windscreen as the green of the forest blurs past the windows. His brow furrows and hands tighten and loosen on the wheel.  
“Stiles,” I call, gaining his attention, “Scott will be fine. The hunters aren’t likely to be hunting right now. It’s not a full moon, and even hunters of the supernatural need day jobs.”  
He inhales deeply, relaxing his vice-like grip on the steering wheel, his face still one of concern and thought. “Where could he have gone?” he spoke mostly to himself. At that moment a ding is heard from my back pocket. Pulling my phone out I look at the screen to be greeted with a message from one Allison Argent.  
‘My dad just hit Scott with his car’  
“I found him,” I mumble as I quickly type a response, significantly less worried about the boy despite his run-in with Mr Argent’s SUV. “He went to Allison’s. You know you probably should have guessed that, I’ve never seen that boy as enamoured with anyone else. He’s still not as bad as you though. Still on track with that plan to make Lydia fall in love with you?”  
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “Not exactly.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye as he adjusts his grip on the wheel, his cheeks turning a pale pink at the line of questioning.  
The green slowly fades as we reach the houses on the outskirts of the town. “It’ll work itself out, Stiles. You’re sweet, and funny, and smart when you have enough Adderall in you to focus on a book for more than half a second,” I giggle as I gently shove his shoulder, his features smoothing out into a soft smile. “Any girl would be lucky to have you.”  
The Jeep slows to a stop in front of my own personal hell. The driveway thankfully deserted and the lights off inside, except for my shared bedroom. My brothers silhouette barely visible on the closed curtains flitting in and out of view. I turn to Stiles my hand reaching for the door handle.  
“Carter, I have…,” he mumbles out, nerves in his voice only to cut himself off. He narrows his eyes; gaze locked on my jawline and gently reaches out to turn my head. “What happened?”  
My eyes widen slightly, I thought I had covered all the bruises before I left, I must have missed a spot in my rush to meet with the boys. I wave him off stiffly and force a chuckle, “It’s nothing. I just fell down the stairs. Tripped over my own feet.” His facial expression didn’t change. “Seriously Stiles,” I set my hand on top of his and softly move it from my face, “I’m fine. I’ll live. It’s just a bruise.” I drop his hand and swiftly jump onto the pavement, not wanting the boy to notice any other injuries I may have missed, “I’ll see you at the game later. Save me a seat?” I question, backing up towards my front door, he barely nods, his face still scrunched in concern.  
I spin and rush towards the door, attempting to not seem as though I was running from the boy. I fumble with the lock and slam the door behind me as soon as I was inside. Leaning against the door I slide down to the floor and shove my hands into my hair, pulling gently at the roots.  
I fucked up.


	12. Chapter 12: Scott's First Game Part 1

The cold wind nips at my cheeks and tousles my hair as I walk towards the rapidly filling bleachers of the brightly lit lacrosse field. Across opposing, edges of the field are lined with teenage boys in maroon or white jerseys. Some stretching, others jogging and a few throwing a ball between themselves. The loud sound of chattering drifts through the air gradually towards me. The not so faint voice of Coach Finstock drifts across the field, “Greenburg, my grandma moves faster than that. And she’s dead.”  
I make my way towards the boy with the buzzcut on the bench, haphazardly trying to fasten the gloves onto his hands, his knee bouncing rapidly and consistently. I drop down on the bench beside Stiles and gently move his hand out of the way, easily fastening the glove into place for him. He looks up in surprise, his mouth agape.  
“You think you’ll get to play this time?” I mutter as I take his other hand in mine and fasten the glove for him.  
He continues to stare at me, his eyes focused on my jawline where he had noticed the bruising earlier. He reaches his hand up towards my face, his concentration is only broken when Finstock abruptly blew his whistle. Stiles shakes his head subtly and clears his throat. “I doubt it,” he mutters as he glances behind me at the Coach who was continuing to berate Greenburg, “I never have before.” He looks down at his now gloved hands and plays with the fingers, pulling at the gloves.  
I place my hands over his drawing his attention back to me, “You’ll get to play, Stiles. Might not be today but I know you will. In the meantime, be thankful you’re not Greenburg.” I turn slightly to glance at Finstock who is not leaning over the poor boy as he attempts to do a sit-up blowing his whistle as he falls back onto the grass. I nod towards the two, “Better him than you.”  
A small smile graces his face, “If it gets me out of that then I will continue to warm this bench.”  
“Only if you save me a spot, too,” I say, getting lost in the swirling depths of his caramel coloured eyes. Our gaze is only broken by a slightly aggravated sigh from beside us and the noise of a gym bag being dropped on the bench. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I shake off the feelings blooming in my chest. The boy that caused the disturbance falls onto the bench and places his head in his hands and gently massages his temples as though to soothe a headache.  
“You gonna try to convince me not to play?” he mumbles from behind his hands before glancing at the two of us. A lost expression on his face, a pleading look in his eyes.  
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Stiles replies, awkwardly playing with his fingers again barely glancing at me.  
“If I don’t play, I lose first line and Allison.”  
I place my hand on the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture, gently squeezing his shoulder pad. “Allison’s not going anywhere,” I attempt to calm Scotty down, “And it’s just one game you really don’t need to play.”  
“I wanna play! I wanna be on the team. I wanna go out with Allison. I want a semi-freaking normal life. Do you get that?” Scott protested, his frustration clear in his voice, I remove my hand from his shoulder. His leg begins to bounce as he clutches his hands in front of him and he looks off across the field.  
“I get it. Just try not to worry too much while you’re out there, okay? Or get too angry.” Stiles looks concerned at his best friend, the outburst unusual for the frustrated teen.  
“I got it.”  
“Or stressed.”  
“I got it.”  
“Don’t think about Allison in the stands. Or that her father’s trying to kill you. Or that Derek’s trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone. If a hunter doesn’t kill you first –,” Stiles begins to ramble before being cut off as I set my hand on the boy’s arm in an indication to stop. Scott’s anxiety rising as the rant continues. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”  
“You’ll be fine, Scotty,” I attempt to reassure the worried wolf boy on the bench beside me, “You’ll play the game and be fine. Allison will still be here afterwards. And we can worry about the rest later. Okay?”  
He nods slightly and looks off to the side where the Argent family was crossing the field towards the bleachers. Concern washes over his face as he notices that Allison is accompanied by the man who shot him. I squeeze his knee in an attempt at comfort, “You’ll be fine, Scott. I know you can do this. You will play the game, no one will be seriously injured, and you’ll get the girl. Right, Stiles?”  
I turn to him for confirmation only to be met with an apprehensive look. He responds, his voice slightly higher than usual, “Weeell.” I shoot him a hard look and begin to squeeze his arm firmly. “Y-yeah. Sure,” Stiles stammers out unconvincingly.  
I return my attention to Scott with a bright smile, “See. It’ll all be fine.”  
Scott looks unconvinced but nods in response and absent-mindedly stands and makes his way towards the hunter’s daughter, my hand falling in his absence.  
Sighing I watch the boy as he walks away and slap Stiles on the unpadded part of his arm. He scooches away and grabs at his arm dramatically. His legs flail a bit as he looks at me with a wounded expression. The action causes me to smile as he gapes at me, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief.  
“Don’t give me that look. You should be more supportive of him. He’s always been there for us,” I gently reminded. I attempt to nudge him playfully, but he leans further away, not realizing how close to the edge of the bench he is. In a tornado of flailing limbs, Stiles unceremoniously lands on a heap on the ground, shock painted on his face as a giggle escapes my lips before I can stop it. As I begin to reach a hand out to help the clumsy boy up a demanding voice sounds from behind me.  
“Carter! Are you sitting with us?” it wasn’t a question; with Lydia it never was. She wore the same haughty expression she always did when I was in the company of (in her eyes) my less socially acceptable friends and Allison stood awkwardly behind her, her arms gently folded to fight off the chill in the air.  
I sigh, “Yeah Lyds. I’ll be up in a moment, save me a seat.” I look at her expectantly and she turns without acknowledging my words as the Great Lydia Martin always will in the presence of those, she deems inferior.  
I shoot Stiles an apologetic look as he grasps my hand and hoists himself back to his feet, “I’m sorry, you’ll have to warm the bench solo. Lydia will have my head if I ditch her again.”  
“It’s alright.”  
His eyes shone with sadness as I squeezed the hand I was still holding before letting go and slowly start retreating backwards towards the steps, “Next time.”  
He nods in response as he returns to the bench, a small smile gracing his features, “I’m holding you to that Lahey.”


	13. Chapter 13: Scott's First Game Part 2

I took my place on the cold hard bench beside Lydia who has some poster board leaning against her shin, presumably with phrases to boost Jackson’s ego pasted onto them. Allison and her father sat on the other side of her, Allison shifted slightly awkwardly, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.  
“You know,” I started as soon as I had settled in for the game to begin, “I’m allowed to have other friends you know?” I stared at the girl beside me, her gaze locked onto the players as they filed onto the field.  
“Other friends? Yes,” she sighed, fixing her already perfect hair, “Just not one’s that sit on the sidelines and watch as Jackson once again leads our team to victory.” The callous response annoyed me, but what could I expect from Lydia? She knows what she wants and how to get it, and unfortunately for me, she wants popularity and notoriety, which was tainted when one of her closest friends mingled with those, she deemed unworthy.  
Before I had the chance to respond the boys had taken their positions on the field and the referee had blown his whistle to signal the players to begin the battle for dominance. I sigh in resignation and settle back into my seat to watch the game. Concern for both Jackson and Scott sitting uncomfortably in my chest.  
The game progressed quickly as the opposing team scored. It wasn’t noticeable at first but as the game continued it was obvious no one was passing to Scott. It had got to the point that the other team must have noticed and had stopped blocking him, leaving him open. And yet the Beacon Hills players refused to even let the notion pass through their thoughts.  
As Beacon Hills finally scored, by none other than Jackson Whitmore, the crowd erupted in cheers. We stood to our feet and Lydia nudges Allison as she lifted a sign singing Jackson’s praise. Scott has a double-take at the sign as he makes his way back into position, the rest of the team gathered, looking to be arguing. They separated after Jackson made a seemingly heated remark.  
Before play continued, Scott seemed to bend over in his position, his breath visible as he wrung his hands slightly on the stick of his Crosse. The member of the opposing team meant to be covering him seemingly backed away from the boy.  
“Which one’s Scott?” I hear Mr Argent question us as the fourth quarter began.  
“Number 11,” Lydia muttered bitterly, “Also, the only player who hasn’t caught a single ball this entire game.”  
“I hope he’s okay,” Allison mumbles into the sleeve that she had pulled over her hands as she gently rubs it on her chin.  
I turn to look at her reassuringly, “He will be.” My voice is firm as I look directly into her eyes, concern shining in their brown depths, only marginally decreased by the perceived sincerity of my words. I turn my attention back to the boy who was slightly hunched on the field, his breathing visible in the cool night air. I begin to gently bite my thumb as I mumble, “I hope.”  
“I hope we’re okay,” Lydia snarked, annoyance evident in her tone as she gazed at the scoreboard, “We need to win this.” She abruptly stood, grabbing another sign she had brought. “Allison, little help here,” she demanded, turning to Allison.  
Allison reluctantly got up and halfheartedly aided in balancing the sign in the air. Scott saw this once again and his breathing became visibly heavier. From this, it seemingly flipped a switch in the boy as, as soon as the whistle was blown to signal the beginning of the round, he was off, had gained possession of the ball and had scored a goal.  
The crowd jumped to their feet cheering on the newest addition to the team. All except for Lydia that is, who looked shocked and annoyed at the development. “Come on, Lyds. If he keeps playing like that then we’re not going to lose.” I nudge her with my knee as I continued to clap for my friend's achievement.  
As the game continued, Scott scored goal after goal, one through the Crosse of the goalkeeper, Stiles becoming just as excited as during the first practice of the year. As the final seconds ticked down though something was clearly wrong as, he stopped before the goal, not moving to throw the ball and score the winning goal.  
Oh no. This isn’t good.  
As one of the opposing players made a move to steal the ball, I hear a gentle mumble from my left, “You can do it, Scott.” As though broken out of a haze, the ball was projected into the net, and the game was won.  
As the buzzer sounded indicating the conclusion of the game, I see a pair of familiar hands thrust into the air and the crowd began to flood the field to congratulate or commiserate with players. The last I see of Scott is his back heading towards the school. I was quickly lost in the sea of people and attempted to navigate towards the direction in which I last saw Stiles.  
As the crowd parted the boy came into view, a concerned look painting his features as his father spoke to him in a serious tone. The words weren’t loud enough to be heard over the celebratory cheers, but they clearly worried Stiles from his expression.  
“Stiles. Mr Stilinski,” I called out to the pair. His eyes locked onto mine as I hopped over the final bench separating us, a false smile on my face as concern fills my stomach.  
The sheriff greets me with a wide grin, “Carter, how have you been?”  
“Good as always, Sheriff,” I grin back, before playfully nudging Stiles, “but we should go find Scotty. Congratulate him on his win.” I begin to back up pulling Stiles gently towards the school building.  
He nods in understanding before turning back to his phone as it begins to ring. Stiles and I turn towards the school walking at a brisk pace across the field, dodging bodies along the way.  
“What’s got you so concerned?” I ask.  
He glances in my direction, “Derek Hale was released.”  
“And you think he might be after, Scott?” I mutter, more as a statement than a question. He nods in confirmation. “We should go find him then.” And I quickly speed up to a run, Stiles swiftly following my lead into the building.  
We rush down the halls towards the boy’s locker room in search of a possibly feral wolf boy. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as my breath caught in my throat, Stiles presence close behind me as we round the final corner and the door came into view. The door flew open as we burst into the room and scrambled through the rows of lockers only to stop abruptly. I put my hand out to stop Stiles.  
We found Scott. But he wasn’t alone. Pushing Stiles back from the door allowing to close with a slight click giving Scott and Allison some privacy. I murmur, “I win, Stilinski. Pay up.”


	14. Chapter 14: A Talk with Isaac

The silence is comfortable between us as we slowly make our way home after the game concluded afraid of which father would be waiting at home for us. The only sounds are that of the rustling leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk, the soft sound of Isaac’s lacrosse bag moving with his movements and the soft thudding of our feet on the asphalt. Concern and pride fill my being for Scott’s achievements that night and the looming threat of the strange werewolf who was released from custody earlier that night. The crisp new bills in my pocket and promise of Stiles having to do one thing I wish doing little to soothe the fear in the pit of my stomach as the street sign for our street comes into view.  
I subconsciously move closer to Isaac as we continue, our pace slowing further, neither of us wishing to discover the answer to our unspoken question. The house seemingly looms in the shadows across the street from the Whittemore’s brightly lit home as though the very building has taken on the demeanour of the man who owned it.  
A soft crack from the tree line draws my attention causing me to gradually come to a halt as I try to see what could have caused the noise. Isaac takes a few more steps before stopping too, noticing my lack of presence at his side, and looks back at me. A look of questioning gracing his tired features. I take a step closer to the trees to get a better look at what could have possibly caused the noise. The wall of black remained uninterrupted, the only other sounds drifting from the forest is the rustling of leaves both in the trees and on the forest floor, presumably as some nocturnal creature ran about on its midnight adventure.  
“Carter?” Isaac called out taking a step back in my direction, “Is everything alright?” I look for another second, briefly seeing a flash of red, but assuming it was my eyes playing tricks on me. I turn back to my twin and sigh.  
“Everything’s fine. I just thought I saw something.”  
I return to his side and we continue down the street until we reached the door to our house, both of us pausing to listen. His car is in the driveway, but the house is seemingly silent, which does nothing to calm my nerves. Isaac reaches for the handle and slowly opens the door in order to minimize the squeaking of the door hinges. The faint sound of breathing drifts from the sofa in the living room. We both slowly enter the room making as little noise as possible before speeding up the stairs avoiding the steps that squeak. Both of us very much aware of the consequences of poking a sleeping dragon.  
Once we were safely in our shared room and the door was securely closed, I release a breath that I didn’t know I was holding and lay down across my bed, hair fanning out around me. I glance in the direction of Isaac who hadn’t moved other than to set down his bag giving me an all too familiar look.  
Raising myself up onto my elbows, I ask, “What’s up, Issy? You haven’t spoken a word since we left the field. I thought you’d be more excited about winning the first game of the season.”  
He sighs and sits down next to me, facing towards the door so only half his face was visible and places a warm hand on my knee. He opens his mouth as though to start speaking and then stops himself as though debating on whether or not he actually wants to speak the thoughts bouncing around in his head.  
“I-,” he cuts himself off.  
Sitting up I nudge his side hoping to break his stern facial expression, “Come on, spit it out.”  
He swallowed almost imperceptibly before glancing in my direction. “I saw you running off with the Sheriff’s kid,” he stops again.  
“And?” I gesture him to continue.  
“I-,” he mutters, “I think you should distance yourself from him.” Shock fills my body at the suggestion from my brother. He is supposed to be on my side, not His. He continues, “I’ve been thinking, that, maybe, it would be better for you if you left him alone. That boy only ever gets you in trouble, Car.”  
I push his hand off my knee and abruptly stand up, anger overtaking the initial shock of his words. How could he think that? How could he side with that man? The man who is the source of all of our pain and suffering. Pacing I stumble over my words, “Why-? Ho-? Wh-?” Pausing to collect myself, I press my fingertips into my temples and release a harsh breath.  
“How could you say that Isaac? Why would you agree with such a thing?” I just don’t understand what could possibly make him think such a thing. He stared at the scratched wooden floor directly in front of him, his hand hovering in the same position it was when I pushed it off my knee. His eyes look far away as his jaw almost unnoticeably clenches and unclenches. “Why should I give up on one of my best friends? Because He doesn’t think I should be around him?”  
He sighs and starts to mess with his fingers, clearly regretting even breaching the subject in the first place, “I just-.” He pauses and looks up to my face, his blue eyes shining in the dim light of the room, his mouth firmly shut.  
“You just what, Isaac?” I hiss at him, my face twisted in rage.  
“I just don’t want you getting hurt anymore,” he mutters, a single tear falling from his eyes. “I want you to be safe and unharmed.” More tears fall down his face as he aggressively wipes his face, my anger ebbing away and my features relaxing. “I just don’t know what else to do.” He buries his face in his hands and his body begins to shake. Guilt replaces the anger that was consuming me moments ago as I take a seat next to my twin and wrapped my arm around his back, rubbing it gently in comfort. He turns into me and buries his face in my shoulder and wraps his arms around my waist.  
“I just don’t know what else we can do,” he sobs. I continue to rub his back, both arms now around him. I stare blankly at the opposite wall, my twin sobbing in my arms, guilt pooling in my gut at the pain this is causing him.  
Gently shushing him, I murmur, “I’ll figure something out. Everything will be alright.”


End file.
